One of the boxes I recently reclaimed from storage was packed solid with Gigondas, so I’ve been feasting on the wines of this Southern Rhône village of late. The following notes are generalized within the overall profile of the Appellation.
I’d bought a case of the 1998 Domaine Brusset Gigondas le Grand Montmirail back on release; it’s never proven a blockbuster wine but as I’ve opened around one a year for the last few years nor has it ever disappointed. Based on the last two bottles opened (on at Thanksgiving and another at Christmas), it seems to have come into its own right now. There’s still a modest amount of sweet, deep dark fruit on the palate, with those herbal-mineral notes peeking round the corners, and a touch of cinnamon that I don’t always find in my Gigondas, but any rough edges have vanished, the hefty oak appears to have been integrated, and all in all it's quite understated - especially considering the fuss initially made about the massive vintage. A warm and cozy and relatively straightforward Gigondas unlikely to scare anyone out of their comfort zone.
By contrast, and surprisingly so given that I’ve always assumed it to be a more forward vintage, the two 1999s I recently opened were more classically savage. The Chateau du Trignon Gigondas 199 was a clear crimson garnet with only a slight brick, a gingery leathery nose, and considerable spice, all with underlying herbal notes. Smelled less like an eight year old than a screaming, poopy baby. Still, there was a silky attack with an almost milk-like quality, as good aged Gigondas tends to provide, which then opened up into a rich mouthfeel, offering lingering tannins and leading into a long, lasting vibrant and somewhat hefty finish. As it opened up, it continued to deliver that full-bodied, spicy, winter-warming Gigondas feeling. After a couple of glasses I felt like I’d been wrestling a bear in the woods. This is what Gigondas is famous for. Wonderful stuff.
And yet in comparison to the Domaine du Cayron, Gigondas, 1999, it was a mere kitten. I’d already pulled the cork on this one by the time I checked through my notes and saw that wine-maker Michel Ferraud recommends waiting ten or fifteen years to open his wines (made without fining or filtration, he leaves them to settle two-three years in old wooden foudres); I probably won’t make that mistake again. There was a truly “Sparkly” nose of bright red fruit jumping out of the bottle – I wonder if some of that liveliness was the Cinsault that shows up here in higher proportions than elsewhere, or whether it was just the nature of the Grenache? – and a pronounced density of texture apparent even in the aroma, screaming that it was lively and wild but suggesting that it wouldn’t beat you up if you let it out the bottle. And so, I took a sip, but what do you know - the acidity was so damn pronounced that I swiftly decanted, and left it alone for a couple of hours. Returning to it after another bottle of red, the alarming acidity was still there (can’t help but feel that something was at fault here), almost threatening to throw the whole experience out of whack, but the embracing “warmth” of the wine – a good Gigondas, for all its wild and rustic manners, can also work like a perfect winter overcoat - put it into perspective. The strident meatiness and licorice qualities were well matched by a complex mushrooms and eggplant dish made by my wife. A lovely big fat wine but for that acidity, and if not the best (because of that acidity), surely the biggest ‘99 I’ve yet tasted from the southern Rhône – Châteauneuf du Pape included.
Finally, a younger Gigondas, the Pierre Amadeu, Gigondas Romane Machotte 2003. I picked this up a couple of years ago at Uva in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a very good boutique store that I see has recently moved to a larger location. The wine has been around the house all this time, intended for early drinking, but for some reason I’ve been continually scared to open it; even though I love Gigondas, the combination of high alcohol (14%) and the heatwave of that vintage kept pointing me towards less obviously abrasive alternatives. And yet this Grenache-Syrah combination, unfiltered, product of a 30-day cuvaison and 15 months upbringing in oak casks and two year old barrels, turned out to be quite harmless, especially given the environment in which it was opened – late in the day at a holiday party. Sure it was strong, perhaps even fiery, and it had all the gaminess and leathery herbal notes I’d expect from a Gigondas, and perhaps it didn’t have quite such copious fruit as it might have had from a less sun-baked summer, but it was much smoother than I expected, and bodes well for the few other wines I bought from this vintage.
.
